The Count of Monte Cristo – Day 220 of 400

“No.”

“Madame de Villefort?”

“No.”

“Me?” The former sign was repeated. “Are you displeased with me?” cried Valentine in astonishment. M. Noirtier again closed his eyes. “And what have I done, dear grandpapa, that you should be angry with me?” cried Valentine.

There was no answer, and she continued. “I have not seen you all day. Has any one been speaking to you against me?”

“Yes,” said the old man’s look, with eagerness.

“Let me think a moment. I do assure you, grandpapa—Ah—M. and Madame de Villefort have just left this room, have they not?”

“Yes.”

“And it was they who told you something which made you angry? What was it then? May I go and ask them, that I may have the opportunity of making my peace with you?”

“No, no,” said Noirtier’s look.

“Ah, you frighten me. What can they have said?” and she again tried to think what it could be.

“Ah, I know,” said she, lowering her voice and going close to the old man. “They have been speaking of my marriage,—have they not?”

“Yes,” replied the angry look.

“I understand; you are displeased at the silence I have preserved on the subject. The reason of it was, that they had insisted on my keeping the matter a secret, and begged me not to tell you anything of it. They did not even acquaint me with their intentions, and I only discovered them by chance, that is why I have been so reserved with you, dear grandpapa. Pray forgive me.” But there was no look calculated to reassure her; all it seemed to say was, “It is not only your reserve which afflicts me.”

“What is it, then?” asked the young girl. “Perhaps you think I shall abandon you, dear grandpapa, and that I shall forget you when I am married?”

“No.”

“They told you, then, that M. d’Epinay consented to our all living together?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you still vexed and grieved?” The old man’s eyes beamed with an expression of gentle affection. “Yes, I understand,” said Valentine; “it is because you love me.” The old man assented. “And you are afraid I shall be unhappy?”

“Yes.”

“You do not like M. Franz?” The eyes repeated several times, “No, no, no.”

“Then you are vexed with the engagement?”

“Yes.”

“Well, listen,” said Valentine, throwing herself on her knees, and putting her arm round her grandfather’s neck, “I am vexed, too, for I do not love M. Franz d’Epinay.” An expression of intense joy illumined the old man’s eyes. “When I wished to retire into a convent, you remember how angry you were with me?” A tear trembled in the eye of the invalid. “Well,” continued Valentine, “the reason of my proposing it was that I might escape this hateful marriage, which drives me to despair.” Noirtier’s breathing came thick and short. “Then the idea of this marriage really grieves you too? Ah, if you could but help me—if we could both together defeat their plan! But you are unable to oppose them,—you, whose mind is so quick, and whose will is so firm are nevertheless, as weak and unequal to the contest as I am myself. Alas, you, who would have been such a powerful protector to me in the days of your health and strength, can now only sympathize in my joys and sorrows, without being able to take any active part in them. However, this is much, and calls for gratitude and heaven has not taken away all my blessings when it leaves me your sympathy and kindness.”

At these words there appeared in Noirtier’s eye an expression of such deep meaning that the young girl thought she could read these words there: “You are mistaken; I can still do much for you.”

“Do you think you can help me, dear grandpapa?” said Valentine.

“Yes.” Noirtier raised his eyes, it was the sign agreed on between him and Valentine when he wanted anything.

“What is it you want, dear grandpapa?” said Valentine, and she endeavored to recall to mind all the things which he would be likely to need; and as the ideas presented themselves to her mind, she repeated them aloud, then,—finding that all her efforts elicited nothing but a constant “No,”—she said, “Come, since this plan does not answer, I will have recourse to another.” She then recited all the letters of the alphabet from A down to N. When she arrived at that letter the paralytic made her understand that she had spoken the initial letter of the thing he wanted. “Ah,” said Valentine, “the thing you desire begins with the letter N; it is with N that we have to do, then. Well, let me see, what can you want that begins with N? Na—Ne—Ni—No”—

“Yes, yes, yes,” said the old man’s eye.

“Ah, it is No, then?”

“Yes.” Valentine fetched a dictionary, which she placed on a desk before Noirtier; she opened it, and, seeing that the odd man’s eye was thoroughly fixed on its pages, she ran her finger quickly up and down the columns. During the six years which had passed since Noirtier first fell into this sad state, Valentine’s powers of invention had been too often put to the test not to render her expert in devising expedients for gaining a knowledge of his wishes, and the constant practice had so perfected her in the art that she guessed the old man’s meaning as quickly as if he himself had been able to seek for what he wanted. At the word “Notary,” Noirtier made a sign to her to stop. “Notary,” said she, “do you want a notary, dear grandpapa?” The old man again signified that it was a notary he desired.

“You would wish a notary to be sent for then?” said Valentine.

“Yes.”

“Shall my father be informed of your wish?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish the notary to be sent for immediately?”

“Yes.”

“Then they shall go for him directly, dear grandpapa. Is that all you want?”

“Yes.” Valentine rang the bell, and ordered the servant to tell Monsieur or Madame de Villefort that they were requested to come to M. Noirtier’s room. “Are you satisfied now?” inquired Valentine.

“Yes.”

“I am sure you are; it is not very difficult to discover that,”—and the young girl smiled on her grandfather, as if he had been a child. M. de Villefort entered, followed by Barrois. “What do you want me for, sir?” demanded he of the paralytic.

“Sir,” said Valentine, “my grandfather wishes for a notary.” At this strange and unexpected demand M. de Villefort and his father exchanged looks. “Yes,” motioned the latter, with a firmness which seemed to declare that with the help of Valentine and his old servant, who both knew what his wishes were, he was quite prepared to maintain the contest. “Do you wish for a notary?” asked Villefort.

“Yes.”

“What to do?”

Noirtier made no answer. “What do you want with a notary?” again repeated Villefort. The invalid’s eye remained fixed, by which expression he intended to intimate that his resolution was unalterable. “Is it to do us some ill turn? Do you think it is worth while?” said Villefort.

“Still,” said Barrois, with the freedom and fidelity of an old servant, “if M. Noirtier asks for a notary, I suppose he really wishes for a notary; therefore I shall go at once and fetch one.” Barrois acknowledged no master but Noirtier, and never allowed his desires in any way to be contradicted.

“Yes, I do want a notary,” motioned the old man, shutting his eyes with a look of defiance, which seemed to say, “and I should like to see the person who dares to refuse my request.”

“You shall have a notary, as you absolutely wish for one, sir,” said Villefort; “but I shall explain to him your state of health, and make excuses for you, for the scene cannot fail of being a most ridiculous one.”

“Never mind that,” said Barrois; “I shall go and fetch a notary, nevertheless,”—and the old servant departed triumphantly on his mission.

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